


Petals Scattered Before Us

by TheKeeper_of_TheSmut



Series: Hanahaki AU [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 13:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13718814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKeeper_of_TheSmut/pseuds/TheKeeper_of_TheSmut
Summary: Ed's dying, choking on flower petals and his own stubbornness. He finds he's not as scared or upset as he thought he'd be, not until he realizes he'll die without telling Oswald how sorry he is. He has to tell Oswald...but his oxygen deprived brain has other plans.





	Petals Scattered Before Us

Ed’s voice got progressively deeper and quieter as he fought to keep the petals in his mouth. Each word and breath catching in his throat as they clawed past the mass of multicolored flora inside him. His chest hurt and his head spun with lack of oxygen but he had to do it. Oswald couldn’t know that Ed loved him and had all along, even though Edward himself hasn’t been aware of his affection for the smaller man.

Maybe if he could anger Oswald enough the other would put him out of his misery. Isabella had been right about the morbid poetic beauty of dying for love. Would she have felt the same about being killed by one you loved? Probably. She hadn’t exactly shown any fear of Ed killing her. In fact she tempted him to, a dare he refused to act upon. But Oswald? A shiver ran through Edward’s body. Yes, dying in Oswald’s arms, murdered by the man who had once killed for him, that would be perfect. Ed’s fractured psyche, broken body, and tattered soul could finally find rest as the constant buzzing in his brain ceased.

But fate seemed particularly cruel and instead of the enraged savage that was the Penguin, he was met with a much more personal level of loathing. Oswald seemed to have taken to ignoring him. Occasionally locking eyes with him, glaring with the same cold indifference one might regard an insect with before squashing it. He felt like an insect in face of Oswald’s wrath.

Perhaps choking on the symbol of his greatest weakness, what could have been their greatest strength if he hadn’t been blind, was a better alternative. But the Riddler simmered in the back of his mind. Enraged that he was being treated like he was still some geek to be pushed around and bullied. The same timid little freak who worked for the GCPD. Anger seared the back of his brain but Ed silenced him, chest convulsing as he held in another wave of painful coughs. He deserved this.

For all the posturing he’d done Ed was still a weak little boy, cowering from the looming shadow of his father. Still clinging to the need to be normal, to be accepted, when he knew he was better than that. No one else had ever given him the credit he deserved. Appreciated his genius and challenged it. A small smile tugged the corner of his lips. Oswald had. Oswald had seen Ed at his worst and still somehow found something worth while.

He took the battered and defeated forensic scientist and gave him a new purpose as the King of Gotham’s right hand. Helping reign Gotham with an iron fist and sharp wit. The darkness inside Ed, the entity he’d come to call the Riddler, had been content. Oswald had looked that darkness in the eye and challenged it, driving Edward to push himself farther. His eyes closed as the dull throb of the petals caught in his chest pulsed over him. Ignoring that he could almost feel it again. The sense of rightness and belonging.

Had anyone ever made him feel that way? Isabella had been a pale imitation of Kristen, simpering and stroking his ego like a trained animal. He wonders if that’s all she’d ever been. Some circus act trained to redirect his attention from Oswald. From what they could have been together. Thinking about what they could have been together, what they could have done, still causes a rush greater than the drugs he’d taken. The crash back into harsh reality was therefore far more painful.

Riddler stirred again with the appearance of the guards. Indignation at his circumstance, at appearing weak in front of Oswald, driving him to lash out. Oswald… he’d insulted him. Pointing out that Ed had strutted around Gotham like a peacock in hopes they wouldn’t notice how pathetic he was. As if the Riddler was unaware of the power gap between them. Oswald had single handedly brought the mob to its knees and seized Gotham. Inadequacy and shame turned the edges of his vision red and prompted him to drug Oswald. The beating afterwards wasn’t worth it.

Ed came to slowly, noting first that Riddler’s pride was damaged. Not because he’d been beaten, but because of how childish he’d acted. Surely Oswald would never take him seriously now. Beneath that hurt though was the same simmering self-hatred. Now mixed with the constant feeling of regret that Ed had come to know before he’d redirected all the emotions into anger and insanity.

Cracking an eye open he sat slowly, his whole body hurt and the petals had risen up his throat while he was unconscious. He was struggling to breathe around them and through his bruised ribs. Oswald was leaning against the bars with his back to Ed. The side of the cages they shared. Panic swept through him as he felt the flora against his tongue. Swallowing was painful but he forced them back down.

Suddenly Riddler didn’t matter, being normal didn’t matter. Edward was done pretending and hiding. He was scared, he was dying, and he hurt. Everywhere, emotionally, and physically. He was exhausted, his lack of sleep from constantly taking those drugs hitting him hard. The withdrawal from his sudden addiction causing his head to throb and his tongue felt like mud in his mouth.

Scooting across the floor he leaned against the bars, next to Oswald. Seeking his comfort without words. Oswald turned to look at him out of the corner of his eye. Ed thought there had been a flash of worry, but his glasses were gone, knocked off somewhere. His own spindly fingers grasped the bars, reaching.

Oswald jerked away, standing up to look down on the pitiful sight Ed made.

“Serves you right. Now get up and we can talk about escape.”

Ed blinked owlishly up at him, pupils dilated and eyes unfocused. He probably had a concussion. “E-escape?” His voice was scratchy and soft. He sounded strained.

“Well I have no intention of dying in here. And I need help to get out of here. They confiscated your lock pick while you were out. However, knowing you, you still have some trick up your sleeve.” That had almost sounded fond.

Oswald cleared his throat, looking momentarily nervous before shifting back to a mask of indifference. Ed liked to imagine he was choking back petals too.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” Oswald’s voice dripped venom.

“Can’t...he-help. I-” his body shook violently as he coughed. Holding a hand over his mouth to keep the petals in. They hurt, everything hurt. The coughing strained his ribs. Ed swayed against the bars he was leaning against, he was finally dying.

“L-love you. I'm...s-s-," he sucked in a rattling breath, determined to apologize. He couldn't die before he told Oswald how sorry he was. How much he'd thought about him, about holding him, and kissing him, and loving him. "Such….idiot...should h-a-ave…seen…” more coughing as he slumped fully against the bars. Oswald now crouched next to him on the other side. Long fingers dig into Ed’s hair and yank him up to meet Oswald’s furious gaze.

“Liar,” he hissed.

“No...ju-ust didn’t...rea--re...know.”

“I hate you, Edward Nygma. Stop toying with me!” Ed smiled sadly, hand falling away as his vision tunneled.

“Deserve that...so hard...to breathe...c-c-can’t....wish I’d realized….” he paused sucking in a breath only to end in a wheezing cough. Oswald's eyes were wide, the realization Ed was dying hitting him. But why? They hadn’t beaten him that badly, had they? Reaching through the bars he grasped Ed’s shoulders and tried to keep him upright.

Ed’s head was leaned against the cold metal, lips parted to let soft wheezing breathes out.

“Wanna...kiss you...please,” he mumbled. Oswald stiffened.

“Why?”

“Love...you...sho-shot you...sorry,” Oswald cupped Ed’s cheek softly.

Ed tilted up and,

_*WHACK*_

Oswald smacked him across the face, and the subsequent shock forced Ed to cough hard, knocking loose all the petal that had settled deep in his chest. They sprayed outward in a torrent all over Ed, Oswald, and the concrete between them. Ed’s ribs ached with the violent coughs.

Once the stream of brightly colored petals ended Ed trembled. Sucking in air like the night Butch had strangled him. Fuck that hurt! With oxygen back in his brain he realized two things. One, Oswald saw the petals, Oswald knows. Two, the other man was still gripping him through the bars.

Hesitantly, Ed lifted his head and locked eyes on Oswald. He didn’t appear to be in shock. His eyes were locked on the colorful array of petals around them and mouth a thin line.

“Os-O,” Ed stopped, throat too sore to speak. Those beautiful blue-green eyes that had haunted him lifted to meet his.

“I really hate you,” Ed’s heart fell, he wasn’t sure why he got his hopes up.

“You idiot! You shot me and all this time you! And you didn’t know!? Damn you Nygma, I hate you. I hate you because I-” Oswald was crying gasping as he too coughed and a familiar pink and white shower of petals fell from his lips.

“You love me?” How could he still love me.

Confusion turned to fear as Oswald’s grip tightened, yanking him forward and Ed thought this time he was going to die. Except cold chapped lips slammed into his owns, salty tears and copper flavoring their first kiss. Ed's whole body went slack, relaxing into the kiss and gently taking control. Changing the angle and darting his tongue out to wet their lips. Oswald pulled away before Ed got more than a small taste of paradise.

“Shut up! I...I hate that I can’t stop loving you. I hate that you shot me, I hate this whole situation!”

Ed’s hands cupped Oswald’s cheeks, wiping away tears and bringing him in for another kiss.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was wrong, so wrong. I didn’t know, but I do now. I need you. Please, please, I’ll make it up to you. Let me, please.”

Oswald sobbed, choking it back as best he could. “I don’t know. I…”

“Shhh, we can talk more after we escape. When we’ve both showered and eaten and gotten some decent sleep. Take as much time as you need, Oswald.”

“What if I decide not to?”

“I hope you’ll let me try to make it up to you. To still be your best friend. Even if you can’t love me like you once did.”

“I don’t think I stopped. But it’s different now. I’m scared.”

Ed tilted forward and kissed Oswald sweetly.

“Me too, but we can figure it out together.”

“Together,” Oswald repeated after a moment, pressing forward to kiss Edward again swiftly. After all they had plotting to do. And afterward they could sort through their emotions and where they go from here. Ed can think about his fractured mind and damaged ego later.

For now he's content with just being in Oswald's presence, his solid form warm against the cold steel bars. He's real, and he's willing to give Ed a chance. Riddler's voice goes soft and for just a moment Edward can feel his other half relax. As much as Riddler hated it he needed Oswald. Not to cage him or banish him, but to guide him. To help keep Ed from losing one side of himself to the other. Oswald balances him in a way Kristen and Isabella never had. Oswald sees him, both sides of him, has accepted his death at the hands of Riddler's blind rage. And he's still here, pulling Ed to his feet.

Ed gives Oswald's hand a squeeze through the bars, warmth soothing the dull pain in his chest when he squeezes back.


End file.
